


He wraps his loving arms around me

by CoinToYourWitcher



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: All song fics all the time, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Crossover, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hades/Persephone vibes, Hurt/Comfort, I am an angst whore, Mostly Canon Compliant, Plot, Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor, Rey is 16-17, Rey is Harry’s daughter, Reylo - Freeform, Sharing Body Heat, Slow Burn, Survival body heat sex, This story really didn't need the noncon tag but w/e, unwanted kissing and touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoinToYourWitcher/pseuds/CoinToYourWitcher
Summary: Rey is Harry Potter’s daughter (instead of “Lily“) who has a terminal illness.She has a prophecy that says she won’t make it past age 17. But, Rey tracks down all of the Deathly Hallows based on her father’s stories, hoping to become the Master of Death.Death, not a skeletal beast, but a handsome man dressed all in black who has come to her many times throughout her life when she was particularly sick.Then Rey turns 17 and Death starts hunting her...The Spotify Playlist
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 217
Kudos: 198





	1. Last night I thought of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Last night I thought of you  
>  Years ago, when bodies grew  
> An empty home, a vacant Hell  
> I knew you in the harsh realm  
> I thought about how it was  
> I thought about you because  
> I always think about you  
> I always think about you**
> 
> Harsh Realm by Widowspeak
> 
> [The Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2OPPI9jj5JCQxgEyO9O9Gh?si=3l5mrmsBTlaDifu4QUufmA)

[ ](https://ibb.co/zSttPcT)

Rey’s invisibility cloak slithered along the floor behind her as she padded barefoot through the Hogwarts library. Students weren’t allowed out of bed after dark, but she was getting good at this, creeping about, silent as the grave.

Over a year ago, she had found the spell to locate the lost Resurrection Stone here, in the restricted section, after Accio proved unhelpful. Now she needed to find a book on blood magic. She had tried every spell known to wizard on the barrier around Dumbledore’s tomb and she was starting to suspect her father had used something less predictable. Something no one would expect The Chosen One to wield.

Hadn’t her father mentioned a blood magic spell hiding the internal entrance of the seaside cave?

How her life revolved around these tidbits of knowledge now. The fables of generations that came before.

She stepped over the rope, pulling the cloak tight, her legs showing for a moment before she ran a finger over the titles, covers made of creature skins she didn’t recognize, possibly human.

“Lumos,” she muttered, the faded words too difficult to make out without assistance.

Rey heard a hum, a man’s gentle baritone from the far end of the library. It was familiar, she knew it well. The sound of _Him_ letting her know He’s coming. Being polite. 

“Nox,” Rey whispered, folding her arm under the cloak—a piece of His own, considerable cape.

She turned quietly to watch His approach, His inky black pupils already on the spot where her light had been. Inching to the left, His eyes didn’t follow, couldn’t see her.

The torchlights from the first floor corridor seemed to dim in His wake, the hum from His throat sending a shiver to her core. 

She hadn’t heard that sound in almost a year. He couldn’t be here. She still had four days.

His cloak was iridescent, flowing down from His arm, the rest of Him clad in simple black. A sweater, slacks. Normal. Almost human.

But humans didn’t communicate through body language like a cat, peer forward with an intensity a wizard would never let show on their face. Humans weren’t often as big and broad as Him, with pale skin tanned only by the moon. 

And humans respected personal space, she thought, remembering their last meeting.

She swallowed and His eyes flicked to her, searching, boring into the emptiness of the row of books.

“Little bird,” He said, His voice as deep and intimate as His gaze. Unused. Awkward. 

He stepped _through_ the rope, unhindered, stretching a long arm out to find her in the dark, back pressed tight to the books. 

The ancient tomes moved against their chains and whispered in her ear. 

“ _Death_.”

“ _Master_.”

His fingers found her throat and He grinned at the feel of the fabric, separating her cloak at the front. Lazily. Possessively.

Rey did the rest, tilted her chin up proudly so her hood fell back, “I have four more days.” Holding up her hand so He could see. 

The band of permanent ink on her left ring finger would show Him. _4_ was imprinted today, in the center where a gem would reside, were it an actual object and not some sort of ghostly, magical brand.

He stepped into her space, His fingers coming up to toy with her hair. His to touch. Her air His to breathe.

“I couldn’t wait,” He said, leaving His lips parted, His tongue running a deep gouge up the inside of his cheek.

Rey loosed a slow breath and pressed harder against the stale books, trapped, chains digging into her spine. “You promised,” she said, her voice constricted, her useless yew and phoenix tail feather wand crushed between their frames.

He leaned until their lips brushed. “We promised each other,” He said, closing His eyes and kissing her with surprising tenderness, like the first time. His tongue slid over hers and it did indeed feel like a promise. One that made her insides turn into a boiling cauldron. 

Rey’s wand clattered to their feet and her hands tugged through His hair—dark as pitch. Her body had a mind of it’s own around Him. She lifted a leg to plant herself on the wooden desk lip at the base of the shelf, just enough space for her to sit up straight, position Him between her legs.

“Little bird,” He said into her hair, too tall for her as He ground himself into her, the part of Him that felt _very_ human.

She couldn’t tell what He wanted. Her soul or her life or her body.

_All of it_ , His eyes were saying.

She must have a death wish.

“Rey, the library is closing,” Hugo’s voice said, causing her head to snap up from her book pillow, a page ink-glued to her cheek.

It ripped the page and Hugo gasped, but she repaired it easily and wiped at her cheek, flushed with embarrassment and...disappointment.

“You got a new tattoo,” he smiled, reading the transference. “Protego maxima.”

She had been reading more dull books on barrier spells. To get past her father’s invisible fortress around the Elder Wand. 

With a wave of _her_ wand, the books returned to their shelves, floating faster than she intended, settling louder than was her usual delicacy. But she was sleepy.

“How are you feeling?” Hugo asked, running a hand through his bright, ginger hair. He was definitely becoming the cutest one of her Weasley cousins.

“I’m just tired.” 

Rey was used to that question. She’d been mysteriously ill for years. 

Until her bargain with Death. _One more year. Painless._

She looked down at her hand, the magic-made tattoo reading _3._ Three days left—not _4_ , like in her dream. _Nightmare_ , she corrected herself. 

But as Hugo walked her to the fifth floor entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, Rey wasn’t able to shake the cozy feeling of Him nestled between her thighs. Desire and fear were not exclusive, it would seem.

According to the Hogwarts library’s available books on the subject, Death looked different to everyone, whatever _they were into_. Whatever made them forget about life and friends and family and take His hand.

They neared the door knocker shaped like an eagle’s head with a ring through it’s bronze beak.

“Thanks for escorting your infirm cousin,” Rey said, sarcastically. She had to keep up the pretense that she was feeling poorly. She didn’t want her death to take them all by surprise. She still had coughing fits and everything, but no shortness of breath and slow suffocation and lack of appetite like _before._

“Yeah, I only do it because girls think it’s hot that I help you out,” he smirked, more sarcasm to meet her own. 

The door knocker interrupted their goodbyes with her proper, upper crust accent.

“Two witches ate dinner together. They both ordered iced tea. One witch drank three very fast-.”

“The poison was in the ice,” Rey said, bored as always by the riddles. They had to be easy enough that the first years could get in.

“You never let me finish,” the door grumbled, swinging open.

“You’re always so good at that,” Hugo mused, waving as he turned to stride off to the Gryffindor common room before curfew.

“Yes, one day maybe I’ll make detective,” Rey mumbled to herself. Schooling was a waste for someone with no future. She’d never get to have a career.

She crossed the airy, circular common room, staring at the midnight blue carpet, avoiding conversation in favor of rest, throwing in a few wet coughs to keep others at a distance.

The spiral staircase still winded her—even without the shortness of breath—but she unlocked her dormitory and kicked off her Mary Janes by the door, coughing in earnest now and licking coppery blood from her bottom lip.

She sighed at the pristine state of her bedroom.

One of the perks of having a chronic cough. A room to herself where she couldn’t keep other students awake. 

It was stuffy from the fire the house elves had lit in the grate, so she unlatched the tall, skinny balcony windows and opened them wide to the greenish twilight.

A storm must be coming, she thought, deciding to leave the windows open anyway. For the winter breeze and the view of the snow-covered mountains.

Rey flopped onto the bed of dark blue and white covers, sinking deliciously down, peeking through the gauzy bed curtains. The orb on her nightstand sat innocuously, like a paperweight, and she reached, taking it in hand, a nightly tradition. Her prophesy.

Professor Trelawney’s misty face froze and she ripped Rey back by the hair, her hands controlled by the specter inside. Her great-great grandmother, Cassandra, if rumors were to be believed. She took a long, dusty inhale, before speaking with that terrified voice that was not her professor’s, staring at the ceiling with magnified eyes.

_“Do not bend, do not cower,_

_Bloody-lipped girl in the high western tower,_

_By sixteen, marked to pass,_

_And one year more you shall not last,” she inhaled again, more frantic now._

_“Fly little raven with thestral wings,_

_Hot on your heels, the shadow that sings,_

_Try as you might, we’ll not see you hence,_

_None can escape Him, Death, the dark prince.”_


	2. Something's been growing inside of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Our love waits for all of  
>  The ways out of our love  
> Our love waits  
> Songs without words about  
> Mistakes we've made along the way  
> Something's been growing inside of me  
> A brittle voice cries out for sympathy; it says  
> You do not have because you do not ask  
> You see now freedom is not a simple task**
> 
> Our Love by Seryn
> 
> [The Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2OPPI9jj5JCQxgEyO9O9Gh?si=3l5mrmsBTlaDifu4QUufmA)

“Is someone there?” the girl asked feebly. She looked to be no more than eleven, and she must be, if she was at school. 

He wondered if He had made a sound. Was He becoming careless? He stayed where He was, crouching on the floor under His cloak watching her bed covers rise and fall. Waiting. 

Sometimes, at the end, children were afraid and would cry out for their mothers or a hand to hold. But even adults showed more fear than this.

Her pain was so much that He could _feel_ it in His teeth. He wondered what ailment could cause such suffering, but smelt no signs of cancer or disease. No injury or fever or virus. Just the cough, the bloody cough of agonizing lungs, inflating and deflating beneath her ribs, giving her precious little air for her efforts.

The school nurse was in her office, writing letters to the girl’s family to come quick. A sudden illness. The severe-looking headmistress was on her way down to sit with her. But He knew neither would make it in time to be with her in the last moment. 

That’s why He was there. He came for the lonely ones.

“Rey, I’ll go wake your brothers, you just lay still,” the nurse said with forced calm, running out the door with her letters.

‘Rey’ didn’t cry out, even though she could feel it by now. The end. She stared wide-eyed at the ceiling of the hospital wing. A throaty cough sprayed blood on her chin that she had no strength to wipe away.

He removed his cloak, humming a lullaby as He stood up to His full height, taking two long steps to her bedside. Her eyes followed him and He heard the flutter of her tiny heart. In the dark window pane above her bed, He could see what she saw when she looked at Him. A handsome man with dark hair, full lips, a long face.

His voice snagged in His throat. “Don’t be afraid, I feel it too.”

She considered him a moment. This man who had appeared out of thin air.

“I’m not afraid. I don’t die today,” she said, fading before His eyes.

His eyebrows ticked. 

“Look there,” she said, by way of proof. Atop her nightstand was a clear glass orb. “I live ‘til I’m seventeen,” she said confidently, even though red was pooling at the corners of her mouth.

He shook His head. Some false prophet had given her hope and it was a sad thing to see. The last light in her eyes flickered, daring Him to contradict her. 

He took her hand—even though she had not asked for it—feeling anger on her behalf. There were no Seers anymore. And little witches shouldn’t die alone in a castle full of hundreds. Maybe He could give her just enough to keep her alive until her family came. A teaspoon of life. He knelt.

He looked into her hazel eyes—dry, unlike His—and gave her more. A year. An extension. It flowed through His hand into hers, a third the size. 

A smile of relief stretched her round face and He felt the needles of her pain retract from His nerves.

“How did you do that?” she asked, watching Him stand. 

He’d done too much. He shouldn’t have. It wasn’t fair to all the others. The millions He’d Taken at a fraction of their days. But He had compassion for her. She had a hunger for life and she didn’t know He’d given it, just that the pain was gone.

He didn’t answer her. She’d be amongst the living for some time, plenty of time to tell them about His visit.

“You’re not human, are you?” she asked, before He vanished.

\---------------------------------------------------------

“Da da dummm,” He hummed, following the sounds of coughing deep into the Dark Forest. Brave, little thing.

She sat perched in a tree, crying. 

“What is it, little bird?” He asked, stopping at the bottom of her tree, waiting for her fit to pass.

“I remember you,” she said, pulling her wand out of her school robes, a blue and bronze scarf around her neck. 

Little Ravenclaw in a tree.

“You’re Death, aren’t you?” she demanded, pointing her wand and climbing higher, trying to suppress her coughs, hiding her pain like an animal.

He bowed. Clever witch. They chose her house well.

“Still coughing I see,” He said, sounding more like her doctor than her doom. “But why are you in a tree, little bird?”

She sniffled. “Hagrid needed me to help with the thestrals. I’m one of the only ones that can see them. After last year.”

He waited.

“Strife was having her baby. He let me name her,” she said, her face screwing up. “Freya. But then Strife died.” Her cough returned and she struggled, hyperventilating, but calm in the mistaken thought that she had five more years.

He climbed, using her handicap to catch up to her, halfway up the oak. When they were eye-to-eye He stopped, wiping the blood from her face, more than last time. “Death is just a bridge,” He told her, seeing her catch His meaning. He wasn’t there for Strife. Today was her deathday. Her new one.

She shook her head. “I don’t die today,” she informed Him once again.

He’d love to Take whoever had given her this false prophecy.

He debated, then took her hand and squeezed. Another year. Because He was weak and didn’t want to see the little bird fall from the tree, a tiny body broken on the roots.

She inhaled, watching His face. “Thank you,” she said this time.

“You’re welcome, little bird,” He said, politely. Maybe one day He’d have the strength to let her down. Take her life and cringe as the confusion settled on her features. But like she said. She wasn’t dying today.

\--------------------------------------------------------

“You again,” Rey said, unbothered, watching Him prowl the open courtyard, humming the lullaby that should have been her deathsong. Five years ago.

He folded His cloak over His arm, no one about to conceal Himself from tonight. Just the ticking clock tower over their heads.

She was seated at a stone fountain in the middle, a young, moon-eyed thestral warming her feet. It raised its head as He neared, but Rey just coughed into her striped scarf. 

“Cold air is easier to breathe,” she said, as if He were wondering why she was outside at night. Her hazel eyes followed him curiously, differently. Reverently.

“Little bird,” He said, sitting next to her. “I have to take you with Me tonight.” He would tell her tonight. That He had a weakness for her. That the prophecy she cradled in her lap, her ball of hope, was a sham.

“How old are you?” she asked quickly, changing the subject. Hiding her pain. But He could feel it in His chest.

Some years they spoke, before or after He gave her Time. Another sloppy habit. Giving a cunning Ravenclaw girl information none knew but Himself.

So He was vague. “I’m older than the glacier that carved the Black Lake,” He smirked. “And younger than the rocks on it’s shore.” 

She watched His face and He wondered if He was blinking too fast. Or not often enough.

Her features were still child-like, despite her long legs and new curves. Round, pouting lips and soft cheeks. She was beautiful, in truth. 

He’d given her enough Time, broken His own rules over and over. He should Take her tonight.

“You’re lucky. To have such long life,” she said, enviously, her breath cloud hitting His mid-air.

There was nothing lucky about immortality. It was a burden, a lonely one. A human’s life passed like theirs to the insects. A day to Him, if that.

Rey stared at a snow drift, her teeth beginning to chatter. 

_He wished He could hold her._

What a thought. Not one He’d ever had before.

“What would one do with all my time?” He asked, conversationally, looking up at the star-salted sky.

“What would a human do, or me?”

“Just you,” He clarified, His tone more bedroom than courtyard. He suspected that was what He was feeling. Lust or love or some such human emotion.

“I’d see the world. Have a job. Read every book in the library twice and write a few of my own,” she invented. Her gloved hand settled next to His on the stone seat. Whether she knew it or not, she was asking for His gift. To end her pain and take her hand, like He’d done so many times.

But a new thought was growing inside of Him. Cautiously, He took her hand and peeled her glove off, finger by finger. 

She waited, licking her lips, ready for Him to dissolve the burning, choking hurt.

Instead, He seared a black band around her ring finger.

“Ow!” She protested, looking closely in the dark. “What did you do?”

Rey wanted life so badly she would rather be suffering and alive than pain-free and dead. She was probably the only human who could survive the madness, the millenniums, the eons. Appreciate it.

“I can give you one more year,” He bargained, pointing to the number on her finger. _365_. “Then, after that, you’re mine.”

She stood, backing away, coughing and gasping. “What is this? Some kind of proposal?” She said, sounding disgusted at the thought.

Why did that trigger Him? Because He wanted her to like His facade as much as He liked her human body? The weak, temporary vessel that held her fiery soul. 

His wings shot out, hitting either end of the courtyard walls and she screamed, raising her wand with her gloved hand and glancing protectively at her macabre pet. Her thestral ran to her side, still too small to support her weight, too young to spirit her away from danger.

“It’s a promise,” He told her, closing in on her, folding His wings behind Him again, tight to His back where they blended into His clothing. 

“I was going to die at seventeen anyway,” she said defiantly. “What do you get out of this?”

He unraveled her scarf. It was blood-flecked and hiding her face. “I get you,” He said, mixing His breath cloud with hers, hunching down. “And a kiss.”

“What?” She said, her eyes on his mouth.

He pressed into her, her legs half-buried in snow, wrapping an arm around the small of her back to keep her tight. “To take the pain away,” He offered, making it more enticing.

She swallowed.

“Do you want it?” He asked, meaning the kiss of Death.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“The Peverells and the Potters have made escaping Me an art form,” He said, running His lips down her neck. “I want you to come to Me willingly.” 

Her tiny heart fluttered when His mouth met hers. He took her pain and gave her Time. He kissed her deep enough to make her stumble. He held her tight enough that she couldn’t fall. Her tongue tasted of blood but her hair smelled of parchment and soap and mortal things.

  
“One year,” He said, darkly. He’d give her everything she wanted, all she had to do was beg pardon from the life she led now. He couldn’t keep giving her that, it wasn’t _balanced._ “Then. Willingly.”


	3. A piece of heaven waiting impatient for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Climbing my way in a tree  
>  I saw a piece of heaven  
> Waiting impatient for me  
> And I was running far away  
> Would I run off the world someday?  
> Nobody knows, nobody knows  
> And I was dancing in the rain  
> I felt alive and I can't complain  
> But now take me home  
> Take me home where I belong**
> 
> Runaway by Aurora
> 
> [The Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2OPPI9jj5JCQxgEyO9O9Gh?si=3l5mrmsBTlaDifu4QUufmA)

“Alive as you but without breath,

As cold in my life as in my death;

Never a thirst though I always drink-,” the knocker recited her riddle, drawling slowly, just to annoy her.

“It’s a fish! A fish! Open up!” Rey fumed, pulling the knocker ring to open the door faster.

“I hate you,” the door said to her back, her riddle incomplete. “No, it’s fine, I just spent all day on that one.”

Rey’s death ring read _1_ day. She didn’t have time to lollygag. She’d tapped her foot through her entire Herbology class on monocarpic plants. Professor Longbottom explained how they grew to maturity, bloomed, then died forever. 

A fitting last lesson. Because tomorrow was her birthday and her deathday.

Unless she managed to get into Dumbledore’s tomb and become the Master of Death. She could do it. Run away, find a soft place to land. Hide under the cloak and wield the wand and resurrect the dead for their knowledge. 

She fingered the stone at her throat, a necklace now. Death had almost found it last year, pulling her scarf away. 

She took the stairs two at a time, unlocking the door and spinning into her room. Her Mary Jane’s were dirty with potting soil and she set them on a Daily Prophet to spare the carpet. Something was off. The window was open. She’d left it closed. It could be Hugo pulling a prank, flying up to her window on his broom and scaring her.

“Is someone there?” She asked, angling toward her bed to see outside, without nearing the windows. But she ran into something solid.

She fell to the floor, crawling backwards as Death pulled His cloak off and draped it over His arm. So graceful.

“You usually let me know you’re coming,” she said, standing quickly.

His eyes were trained on her, seeing how a year had aged her. A year without pain, with an appetite that had brought life to her cheeks and a luster to her hair. “We’re past childhood lullabies, wouldn’t you say?”

“What are you doing here? Early,” she explained. She was expecting Him tomorrow. She was going to get the Elder Wand tonight. Try blood magic.

He stepped closer. The fire in the grate blew out. 

Maybe she thought there would be a _0_ on her finger after the _1._ But maybe today was the day.

“I need more time,” she begged.

“Little bird,” He smirked. “You’re insatiable.” It sounded like a compliment. He cupped her face and slid a thumb over her bottom lip.

She had spent every day for a month looking around corners in fear of His coming. And now He was there, licking His lips, preparing to kill her and drag her into darkness. Out like the fire, gone in an instant.

“Do you still need convincing?” He asked, pulling a dead leaf from her hair. 

Time. She leapt at it.

“Yes,” she breathed, wondering what He meant by _convincing_. Her baser instincts had her focusing on His wet lips, so close.

But He didn’t kiss her. He tucked His cloak in some magical hidden place and picked her up like a bride. He turned toward the window and walked, getting a feel for where to put His hands on her. 

She clung to His neck as the safety of the walls disappeared, replaced by rushing wind and a drop, the length of the castle, over rocks and cliffs, all the way down to the Black Lake.

“Don’t!” she screamed. He was going to drop her!

But He didn’t do that either. His wings—wide as the courtyard—expanded and caught the air. He leaned into it and crouched like a cat. A small flap of His wings raised His feet to the railing and He looked at her, like a dare. 

She tightened her grip on His neck and He leaned, over over over until they were gliding.

The hand on her ribs clung tighter—comfortingly—as her body weight shifted. She realized her eyes were closed, her face tucked into His sweater, her fingernails digging into His neck. She looked around, even down, everywhere but at His face.

The Black Lake was nearing as He circled past the cliffs, riding a thermal, lazily down. Closer to the water, close enough to smell the ice along the edges, the wind gave out. She shrieked, but His great wings flapped once, shooting them out flat over the surface like a hunting osprey.

She saw the island with the white tomb and felt ashamed. Death was not like the Tales. He was not a skeletal beast with bat wings. A trickster. A monster.

His wings were made of blue-black feathers like a crow. He was attractive and kind. His touch had only ever helped her. She longed for His return every year, if she was honest, for it meant a temporary reprieve from suffering. But another part of her—the part that desired Him—craved His eyes and lips and muscles. Hard against her soft.

Death positioned her to face Him, but laid her back, as if the glassy, dark water flying by were a floor to take her on. If He let go, she would crash. Sink and drown. Suffocate, and she knew that terror. But they were flying so fast it felt like cold stone on her bare feet. So she relaxed, His hands on her neck and back, her toes trailing down to break the water’s tension.

His body was molded to hers, His abdomen tightening with each languid beat of His wings. Without permission, her legs rose to either side of Him, feeling that motion push on her where she wanted it. 

She let go of His neck and let her hands skim the water next. A dream. Better than any dream. It was home. She could have this? Not darkness, but a friend?

He thrust His wings and His waist pounded her there, climbing back into the sky as the lake ended, the pines and Dark Forest under them now. He seemed to sense her enjoyment, His breath warming the crook of her neck, a heat building under His sweater. She squirmed into Him and His brow darkened. His wings beat again and His body rubbed against hers, the fabric of her skirt rising now.

“I came to get you over and over,” Death said, seriously. “But you would never let go.”

He sounded so human, then, circling the castle without looking, as if He’d done it a thousand times.

His fingertips counted her ribs and she remembered how the pain in her lungs always seemed to flee from His hand.

Kind. He was kind.

She pulled His face down and gave Him a kiss. Willing. More, wanting. He could have her that instant. She tasted a hint of bergamot on His tongue and wondered if He tasted the way she wanted as well as looked the way she wanted. And if that would change when she died.

Long fingers traced the outside of her thighs, squeezed the soft flesh of her leg.

Her lungs worked but she couldn’t breathe. He kissed her harder, desperate for assurance, and she gave it to Him, with her tongue and lips and noises lovers made when they ached for more. Her hands fisted His sweater, pulling down to propel herself into his kiss.

She was wetter than sin.

“Take me,” she insisted. “Please,” Rey said, her world converging, every nerve primed to the feel of his hands on her, exploring her. Thighs, hips, waist, stomach, between her legs, under her panties, delving. “Ah!” She cried, loving pain for the first time in her life. 

“You’ll come with me?” He asked, watching her face hungrily. 

“Yes. Yes,” she whined, kissing His neck, grinding into his hand, praying it wasn’t Death’s beautiful trick. A trap He set for everyone.

He forced a second finger into her, unnaturally warm, and she cried out, clenching around them, yearning for the privacy of her bedroom. His mouth was open, teeth bared, still watching her, breathing hard, His hand pumping. 

She screamed, twisting and arching in His arms, her nerves tensing sweetly as she came. His whole body was shaking with self control against her and He rubbed His face into her shirt, dangerously close to her necklace. 

Then His hands ripped away cruelly and she screamed—in fear this time—but, opening her eyes, she was on her balcony, skirt and panties askew. 

Death leaned on her railing, _licking his fingers._ He helped her stand and pulled her inside, His legs moving faster than hers.

Adrenaline or good sense kicked in. “Are you going to kill me?” she sputtered.

He frowned, closing the windows and latching them with a metallic click that chilled her bones.

“I don’t kill. I _wait,_ ” He said, defensively, His eyes flashing.

Rey ran her fingers through her wind-swept hair, wet at the tips with lake water. “I’m going to just die? When?”

He sighed, as if He wished it were now. “Soon.”

An hour? A day? The prophecy said ‘and one year more, you shall not last.’ 

Rey looked around, coming down from the high of flight. She climbed onto her bed to sit, debating. She could still fight. She could grab the cloak, hanging next to the bed. She could whistle for Freya, meet her in the courtyard.

But Death crawled, shoulder blades shifting, over her legs and chest and up to her mouth, laid her back on the covers, and kissed her eyes to close them. Perhaps forever.


	4. If I had a heart I could love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **If I had a heart I could love you  
>  If I had a voice I would sing  
> After the night when I wake up  
> I'll see what tomorrow brings  
> Crushed and filled with all I found  
> Underneath and inside just to come around  
> This will never end cause I want more  
> More, give me more, give me more**
> 
> If I Had a Heart by Fever Ray
> 
> [The Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2OPPI9jj5JCQxgEyO9O9Gh?si=3l5mrmsBTlaDifu4QUufmA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song is perfection, just making sure you're listening!

He kneed Rey’s legs apart, anxious to consummate their bond. 

She’d said ‘yes’—rather emphatically—He reminded Himself, but somehow He could see the wheels turning in her head. 

Sucking her tongue, biting her lip, lifting her skirt and lowering His weight onto her in all the right places, she wasn’t thinking of changing her mind _right now_. All He had to do was keep her distracted long enough.

Tonight, His reprieve would wear off. The pain would return and it would be excruciating, after so long without. She wouldn’t endure long after that.

Rey gripped and tore at the bed hangings, arching into Him and moaning. 

All humans experienced this trance-like state when they were accessing that primal part of themselves. But poor Rey was experiencing it for the first time with Him, the image of what she desired most. The handsome man with dark hair and a long face. 

It was almost too much for her. Tears ran down her cheeks and she writhed under Him, trying to remove her clothes.

‘Take me’, she had said. And He would, in more ways than one. He tried to pace Himself, listen to her cues, but there was another sound...singing, a deep, ancient sound in His left ear.

Raising Himself off of her, He pushed the gossamer curtain to the side, staring at the source.

Was He imagining it? Or was the prophecy orb on Rey’s nightstand humming a low ballad of dark magic?

“Why’d you stop?” she asked, continuing to unbutton her shirt, her sweater already crumpled on the floor.

He cautiously raised a finger and touched the orb, His pupils constricting as the song exploded in His ears.

—————————————

“Show me where, Rodolphus,” an old, bearded wizard ordered, his hands tucked into his robe sleeves as they walked down an aisle framed on either side with prophecies.

The orbs glowed bright, all of them new and swirling. 

“Here,” the one called Rodolphus said, pointing to one in particular. “Do not touch it, only Potter can touch it, you see. The name. There,” he said, excitedly. 

“Well done, well done,” Rodolphus smiled, matching his eagerness now. “I’ll curse the thing so he suffers long and slow.”

“Yeah, like _we_ did in Azkaban, brother!”

He nodded, raising a wand, “Together, Rabastan? To make it more powerful?”

“Yes, together,” he hissed, raising his wand as well. They murmured the incantation as one, pouring their malice into the object, the perfect conduit for revenge.

“He’s coming to get it tomorrow,” Rabastan said, taking a step away, as if he could already feel it’s power.

“ _The boy who lived._ He won’t survive the year,” Rodolphus promised.

——————————————

He was standing by the bed when His finger lifted from Rey’s prophecy.

“Where was this made?” He demanded, already on the hunt.

“It’s my memory,” she said, pulling her shirt closed. She looked as if He were scolding her. “They archive all prophecies at the Department of Mysteries, put them in the orbs. Then, when we die, our prophecies return for magical record.”

There had been dozens of prophecies in that aisle. “Who made the prediction?”

Rey blinked. “I- my professor, though not really her, her great-great grandmother spoke through her. We think,” she added. 

Cassandra. Speaking from the grave. Filling the Department of Mysteries with new prophecies to replace all that had been destroyed.

He glared at the thing. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Rey believed she would live to seventeen, therefore he couldn’t bear to Take her at eleven. And now here she was, nearly there. 

Well done, Cassandra.

“You stay there,” He instructed, unlatching the window. 

This wouldn’t take long.

“You’re leaving?!” she said, sitting up. “What did I do?”

He growled, “You didn’t do anything. Stay there.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, buttoning her shirt—off kilter by one button—all the way back up.

“Azkaban,” he spat, before taking to the sky.

————————————

“What have you done?” Rey said, when He returned. It was dark now and not raining there, as it was in the North Sea.

His hair stuck to His face and His clothes dripped steadily on her bedroom floor.

She was standing in front of her knapsack, as if to hide it. 

“I took care of something,” He said, wiping His eyes and smelling blood. The blood of the Lestrange brothers, all over His face now.

Rey was looking at Him as if she could see His true form, past the beautiful mask of the man that she wanted.

“I’ll explain it all one day,” He said. Too much for one night. Her pain would come back soon. 

He knew the cause. He _could_ free her from the curse and let her live out her days. Destroy the prophecy and hope He did not create an unbalanced world. 

_But_ He had tasted her, gotten attached, fallen. He wasn’t going to let her go. He stepped toward her and she picked up her sack. 

He froze. “What are you doing, little bird?”

“You said you didn’t kill,” she said, pulling a silvery cloak like His out of her bag—Ignotus. Her eyes were wild with fear.

Looking down, He saw why. His sleeves were rolled up to His elbows, a red gradient of blood deepening to His fingertips. “They deserved it,” was all He could say. They admitted their crimes to Him. The killings. The torture of Frank and Alice. The cursing of the prophecy.

When He looked up, Rey was gone, a man standing in her place.

More than a ghost, meaner than one truly alive, his shoulder-length hair looking rather shaggy over his tailored suit. “Hello, old friend,” he said.

“Sirius,” He acknowledged. “Last I saw, you were loping over the bridge to find Marlene McKinnon.” He tried to hide the confusion from His tone. This couldn’t be Sirius. Sirius was safely On.

Where was Rey? Hiding under her family cloak? He listened, hearing her footsteps. His eyes flashed to the door as it opened. He ran after her, down the stairs, the ghost of Sirius Black on His heels.

“Well, I’m a ghost now, resurrected, thanks to you,” he prattled. 

Thanks to Him? _The Resurrection Stone_. Cadmus.

Rey must have found it in the Dark Forest. Another family heirloom.

He crossed the common room in five strides, stepping through the closed door to the corridor and stalking to the first staircase, listening for her over the sounds of her undead companion.

He couldn’t feel her anywhere. But He assumed she was trying to get to the front gates to disapparate. He didn’t bother hiding beneath His cloak. No children were out of bed past curfew.

“I’ve missed this place,” Sirius sighed. “The smell of hormones and rain- oh, wait, that’s You.”

His mouth tightened. Rey had two Deathly Hallows. Perhaps even three, if her father had told her of the Elder Wand’s location. 

Sirius kept pace beside Him as He rounded a corner and skimmed a still-moving staircase, as if Hogwarts was on her side too, slowing him down. 

“Do you know where you’re going? Need any help?” Sirius asked, smirking beside Him, inspecting his nails.

He stopped. Sirius sounded entirely too pleased with himself. He turned around, running all the way back to the fifth floor. At the door to the Ravenclaw common room, the knocker began reciting a riddle for Him, but He was already stepping through, racing through the room to the spiral staircase, the knocker’s screams echoing off the stones. 

How duplicitous. Rey had distracted Him with a spirit. Tricked Him into going down the stairs by opening the door.

He punched that door so hard it crashed and lost a hinge. Her windows were still open and He stepped to the balcony slowly, fists clenching. He noted the absence of the cursed prophecy by her bed, a keepsake she had tucked neatly in her knapsack. 

"You don't know what you've done," He said to the ghost, searching the white-out sky for a speck of movement. "She'll die alone and afraid if I don't find her. You can't delay the inevitable."

“I believe you've already done that. And what's life without a little risk?” Sirius said sadly, fading to nothing.

His eyes strained against the crisp air, His bloody hands sticking to the railing, but all He could make out was the trill of a young thestral on the wind.


	5. That feeling that doesn’t go away just did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **That feeling that doesn't go away just did  
>  And I walked a thousand miles to prove it  
> And I'm caught in the crossfire of my own thoughts  
> The color of my blood is all I see on the rocks  
> Alarms will ring for eternity  
> The waves will break every chain on me  
> My bones will bleach, my flesh will flee  
> So help my lifeless frame to breathe**
> 
> My Blood by Ellie Goulding
> 
> [The Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2OPPI9jj5JCQxgEyO9O9Gh?si=3l5mrmsBTlaDifu4QUufmA)

“Go, go!” Rey whispered in Freya’s ear. 

The thestral turned to blink at her with one white eye, before clicking her beak and picking up her speed.

The snow clouds at night were excellent cover, but she knew what the prophecy said. Death was going to chase her down.

She buckled her knapsack tight, making sure the cloak didn’t go flying out, before leaning down flush with Freya’s bony back. Her parents’ stories of thestrals used to scare her, until the prophecy. Then she knew one would help her escape Death someday. 

_Or try to,_ she thought.

Rey held tight to Freya’s neck, glad to have an accomplice. She was shivering, in cold and fear at her new understanding of Death. He was mercurial. Jumped up and left her. Returned with His face and arms covered in blood. 

‘They deserved it,’ He’d said. Meaning _multiple_ murders.

Had His eyes always been so calculating? She felt as though a love spell had lifted, left her with harsh, terrifying reality.

Her father was going to visit her tomorrow morning, even though her owls always reassured him that she wasn’t in pain anymore. But he was the only other soul who had heard her prophecy and he worried. She hadn’t wanted him to come. She knew she was going to flee. Now she wished she had him with her. They were much alike in that respect, taking on burdens alone.

After an hour, her arms tired, her grip slipping. And her cough was back. Freya turned to look at her again, before descending to solid ground, landing so much rougher than Death when He set her on the balcony. She threw her legs together and slid to the grass, looking around. 

“I know this place,” she smiled, pulling her wand out.

After implementing every barrier spell in her arsenal, she lit a large, magical fire for warmth. They were making camp at the Fairy Glens, a set of rolling hills with trim, vibrantly green grass on the Isle of Skye. Muggles liked to make spirals out of rocks and leave offerings of money and trinkets for the Fae. At the top of one hill was a turret made of a natural rock formation, a trail led to it’s center where one could climb to the top and sit. Pulling out her cloak—to fight the chill—she settled it over her shoulders and climbed to the top to play lookout.

The hills had been formed into pointed knolls by grazing sheep, creating a surreal landscape in the moonlight. She tucked her knees to sit, right as a wave of pain hit her. Claws raked her tender lungs and her chest tightened. She coughed until her throat was raw. She gasped and breathed blood. She was going to die on the rock turret, suffocate or pass out and roll right off. 

But Freya flew to her, laid down and tucked her underwing like a mother hen. Rey cried into Freya’s charcoal skin, grateful for her friend, sad that she had known love for a few hours and lost it, horrified at the pain that cleaved at her body and kept her from sleep.

At dawn, Freya made a warning sound—not unlike a dog announcing an intruder—and Rey stood, her cloak a tangle at her back, her barriers doing nothing to stop the wind. There was a dusting of snow on the hills, but she was watching the sky for blue-black wings.

A voice sounded from behind her, there atop the rock. “You...are hard to find.”

Rey nearly bit her tongue in surprise, turning around to see Death in all His dark glory, feet spread as if ready to pursue her to the ends of the earth.

“You’re hard to get rid of,” she said, coughing into her elbow. She sounded angry now. She was. He had the power to take her pain away and He wasn’t. He _was_ a trickster and He’d almost had her walking willingly to her death. Like an idiotic girl with a pretend ring and a body wracked with lust.

“Are you trying to escape this plane? Piss off the Fae with a fire until they drag you to their realm?” He said, stepping toward her—but stopping when she backed away—afraid He’d make her fall.

“ _Can_ I do that?” Rey wondered aloud. Witches and wizards _never_ spoke of the Fae.

He shook his head, “I think even you would rather die than suffer that fate.” He looked scared at the thought, relieved He’d gotten there before something like that had occurred. 

Rey couldn’t fall again for His gentle looks and attentive words. It was all a lovely trap. She took one last look at Freya, her best friend in the world, before taking a spinning step, hearing Him shout, “No, wait!” as she closed her eyes and apparated to the gates of Hogwarts.

She pushed through the heavy, wrought iron gate, coughing from the exertion, and pulled her cloak to cover herself. Her father might be inside, she thought, hopefully, looking at the orange glow of the Great Hall windows, but explanations would slow her. She snuck down the thin rock stairs to the boathouse as she had done many times already, but always under cover of night.

She walked purposefully to the nearest boat and spun her stone three times, asking this time for Albus Dumbledore. A wisp of smoke flew from the stone onto the covered deck beside her. She felt a bit...nervous...with this one. Such a famous wizard.

His tall spirit yawned, as if he had just been awoken from a pleasant nap, his long nose crinkling under half moon spectacles.

She pulled off her cloak. “Headmaster, uh, sir, sorry to bother you. But you once told my father you didn’t need a cloak to become invisible. And I need this boat to blend in with the lake?” she requested, leaving off the bit about robbing his grave.

He smiled at her predicament. “I assume you have Headmaster McGonagall’s permission to take out one of the school’s boats?” he asked slowly, his blue eyes twinkling as he looked at her over his glasses.

Rey cleared her throat. “Uh, yes?” 

“Then you need a disillusionment charm,” he said, cheerily, instructing her on how to tap her wand just right and pronounce the incantation. 

It took her several tries, but he was patient—and seemingly happy to be teaching again. On the fourth attempt, something like a liquid poured onto the side of the boat, spreading slowly, disguising the wood as water, until the boat itself was gone, but she could hear it rocking, slapping against gentle waves.

“Thank you, headmaster!” she said, stepping uncomfortably toward open water, finding the floor and balancing carefully. “Where are the oars?” she grumbled, her voice raspy from coughing.

“Piertotum Locomotor would do the trick,” Dumbledore offered, as if he’d been hoping she would ask for more help, as if he itched to do magic himself again.

Rey smiled, “Thank you.” But stopped. “Are you happy, sir? Wherever you are?”

Dumbledore tilted his head in thought, the bells on his beard tinkling softly. “In truth, I had been waiting to be this happy for some time,” he said kindly, giving her a wave.

Rey returned his wave. She wondered if he was happy to be back with his little sister, Ariana. His ghost vanished as she pointed her wand toward the opening of the boathouse and commanded the craft into motion, steering toward the distant island.

Halfway there, a shadow darkened the water and she nearly screamed. Death circled the castle, searching for her. He hadn’t shown her the extent of His speed on their flight together, if He was already back from the Isle of Skye. He was half a mile away, yet still, she was afraid to cough, afraid to breathe, afraid the boat was leaving a visible wake.

The boat slid smoothly, mercifully quiet, into the soft loam of the island’s banks. She climbed out carefully, weaving between trees, avoiding pine cones underfoot in favor of moss. 

Dumbledore’s tomb had been undisturbed from the seasons, an oval of leafless grass delineated the spell’s boundaries. She pulled the book— _Secrets of the Darkest Art—_ out of her bag, flipping past the torn stubs—likely her Aunt Hermione’s doing before returning the book to the library. She wasn’t about to supply more generations with instruction on horcruxes. 

The barrier spell she needed was in the back, Sanguis Transitum. She’d only gotten this book the night after her dream of Death in the library. A surprisingly uneventful escapade, as it turned out.

Rey coughed deeply, spitting blood into her palm and tracing a door into the glass-like wall. She brandished her wand and repeated the spell, louder and louder in her desperation. When leaves were blowing into the oval, she knew it was successful.

  
“Yes!”

She heard Death’s wings and ran over the line, “Windgardium Leviosa!” The lid of the tomb slid to the the side and hit the ground with a thunk. She fumbled over Dumbledore’s robes, finding his folded hands and prizing the wand into the air. 

As the three objects found themselves in her, a new, magical energy filled her veins. As if her blood had stopped, then pumped harder, strangely, as if coursing in reverse.

_The Master of Death._

The ground shook beneath her feet and she heard the sound of wings tucking, of Him standing in the blood-door, her only exit. His unused voice rippled over the walls of the invisible barrier, intimate in the close space, “You can’t hide, Rey. Not from Me.” It wasn’t a threat. It was sad and spoke of a connection between them that He cherished. 

A tear of fear and love ran down her cheek. Death was tearing her apart.

The Fairy Glens on the Isle of Skye!

[ ](https://ibb.co/NL9sCCd)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fairy Glens is my favorite place in Scotland! 
> 
> I'm going to attempt getting another chapter done today for a tomorrow release, but I've got a rescue trip tomorrow for pigs, turkeys, hens, and goats, so I if I don't get it done in time, the next update might be Monday!


	6. I’m miles away, He’s on my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **I'm miles away, he's on my mind  
>  I'm getting tired of crawling all the way  
> And I've had enough, it's obvious  
> And I'm getting tired of crawling all the way  
> I'm not beat up by this yet  
> You can't tell me to regret  
> Been in the dark since the day we met  
> Fire, help me to forget**
> 
> Which Witch by Florence and the Machine
> 
> [The Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2OPPI9jj5JCQxgEyO9O9Gh?si=3l5mrmsBTlaDifu4QUufmA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey’s perspective from here on out!
> 
> Also, I just wrote the Ravenclaw knocker's last riddle and I've been giggling all morning.

Rey leveled the Elder Wand at Death. The yew vibrated in her hand, ready to prove itself.

“Back up,” she gritted out. 

One look and she could tell that He didn’t think the wand would cause Him any harm. He wasn’t human. He was something _else_. But she didn’t need to fight Him, just escape. And He relied on His senses, like a human.

She pulled the cloak over her head, smiling when His eyebrows ticked. He probably rued the day He gave away the Hallows. He looked down at the ground, finding the indentations of her feet in the grass. So she stepped up onto the edge of Dumbledore’s tomb, mentally apologizing to the old wizard. He looked all around, filling the blood-door with His broad frame, not budging from her only escape path.

“I can hear your breathing,” He said. “It’s ragged. You’re hurting. Won’t you come to Me?” 

Rey’s body shivered, not in fear this time, but because it wanted to do nothing more. She scowled at Him and aimed the Elder Wand over His shoulder. She cast a nonverbal spell, breaking a branch behind him, but He didn’t even turn to see if she had snuck by. “Fool me once,” He said, standing His ground.

“Just leave me alone,” she said, trying not to beg.

His face fell. “I’m not here to scare you. I’m not what you think. I don’t kill. Normally.” He looked around, like He hoped she would reveal herself. “I just want...to be with you forever and make you happy. The pain will be gone,” He said, holding His hand out. 

Lies lies lies.

“Please,” He said, His hand shaking in the air between them, His eyes falling on her, as if He could feel her.

Rey could make another blood-door...but He’d hear her cast the spell and catch her. She could summon more ghosts, but what could they do in this situation? She could fire everything she had at Him with the Elder Wand and she doubted it would have any affect on Him. She was well and truly trapped.

Just as her eyes slid to His hand in defeat, an explosion, a cloud of night filled the air and she screamed, but she recognized the glittering silver in the black fog. Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder?

Another powder bomb exploded and she jumped down, feeling her way to the barrier wall and inching toward the blood-door. The smoke was clearing and she could see Death—and the gap between His right leg and the barrier.

Holding her breath, she crawled until she was behind Him, running to the water’s edge as quietly as she could manage.

Her father shot by on his broom, pelting Death with more powder bombs, hiding her from sight. He dropped Decoy Detonators, black horns with feet that honked and scurried, bumping into trees and walking into the water, making bubbles that erupted at the surface in more muffled honks.

  
Rey found the boat, laughing quietly. _This_ was how The Chosen One had come armed to protect his only daughter? With Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. And it had worked?

Her heart swelled with familial pride as she shoved the invisible boat and jumped in, wobbling horribly, before casting the spell to take her to the closest shore. When she got to land, she coughed and yelped as Death flew up from the island—having heard her—finally convinced she wasn’t inside the oval barrier anymore. She took off up the hill, nearly running into the Whomping Willow’s deadly domain. But perhaps Death didn’t know about the secret tunnels.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t recall _how_ they had gotten past the tree. Ducking behind a hedge, she turned the Resurrection Stone three times, breathing, “Remus Lupin.” The blueish-white smoke swirled and took shape.

His ghost looked about and she realized she was still hidden under the cloak. “Psst,” she said, showing her face for an instant. Lupin squatted next to her, looking concerned as Death circled the Black Lake like a bird of prey.

“How do I get into the tunnel?” she pleaded, pointing a hand under the cloak that he couldn’t see.

“I- I used a stick, but you should be fine, under James’ cloak. Just hit that knot,” he said, holding a hand up, as if to give her a good luck pat on the back, wherever her back was, before thinking better of it. 

“Thank you,” she said, running up to the tree trunk and pressing on the knot. It didn’t move. Locked? Could it be locked? By Headmaster McGonagall?

The Whomping Willow twisted, winding up to smash her into a pulp, but Lupin was by her side again, “Press harder!”

She hit it with her palm, sliding as the ground gave out and the passage closed over her head. Stifling a cough in the musty tunnel, she crawled on her hands and knees over roots and packed dirt, pulling the cloak off in the dark and tucking it into her bag.

“Well done, Rey Potter,” Lupin said, waiting for her when the tunnel opened up enough for her to stand. She wasn’t sure how the ghosts seemed to know her and just what to do when she summoned them, but it had been the same for her father in his time of need.

“I thought it had been locked or something,” she confessed, coughing into her dirty, already-bloody hand.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and in front of a fire,” Lupin suggested, leading her down the passage.

“No fire,” Rey objected, “He’ll spot it.”

“Then I’ll have to show you how to make a smokeless fire. You forget I hid here for years,” Lupin said, helpfully.

Rey couldn’t believe the similarities between him and his son, Teddy. The same walk, hands in his pockets. “Your son is an auror. With my dad,” Rey said. He was practically one of her cousins, just without the red hair.

“I know,” Remus smiled. “Just because you go On, doesn’t mean you can’t peek back to check on things. Death’s kind like that.”

He climbed through the trap door into the Shrieking Shack, left wide open and abandoned. 

‘Kind like that’.

“Lupin,” Rey said, scaling the ladder. “Tell me everything you know about Death.”

After showing her how to light a fire in the bedroom of the Shack, Lupin’s ghost tried to answer all of her questions about Death and the Deathly Hallows, from what he knew as the Dark Arts professor and a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

“Dumbledore didn’t hide his wand, several of us guessed at what he had. Had taken from Grindelwald. Uncommon wood, yew. The Elder Wand’s core is the tail hair of a thestral, a potent, yet tricky substance to master, since none but those who have seen Death can work with it,” Lupin continued. “Dumbledore had always assumed it was created by Antioch Peverell. That each brother was a particularly skilled inventor. But there is another story that lends credibility to the Tale of the Three Brothers meeting Death, that the objects were made by Death Himself. The studies that passed down by those that created magical inventions.”

Rey had been wiping her hands clean in the snow that blew through the broken window and formed a drift in the center of the room. “What did _they_ say?”

“They said the Peverells claimed that they _did drown_ trying to swim across a treacherous river. And that Death led them to a bridge. But halfway across, they grabbed Him, outnumbered, tore at His cloak, took His own ring and wand, and fled back to the land of the living.”

Rey looked at the wand in her hand. _Stolen?_ Perhaps it had vibrated earlier in anticipation of reunification with it’s master, not anticipation of battle.

“What is He? If He used a wand like a wizard?” Rey asked, watching Lupin’s scar-free face, healed in the afterlife.

He smiled. “We can only guess. Perhaps an old god. One of the many nameless immortal beings there once were. Gods who fell for humans and created the first witches and wizards as their offspring, imbuing bloodlines with their own magical gifts. If you believe in that sort of thing,” he said, unconvincingly aloof. But how could he not believe something, living in another realm, escorted by an unearthly being?

“Gods?” Rey breathed. “Like real gods? More of them? What happened to them all?”

Shrugging, Lupin stared into the fire. “Killed each other? Chose to live amongst us?”

Rey coughed into her knees, pulling the cloak tighter around her bare legs. She was hungry and cold, the pain in her chest like the claws had her lungs in their grip, refusing to let them expand. Reaching into her knapsack, she took out her prophecy, rolling it from hand to hand as she often did when feeling worse for wear.

“I don’t think I have much time,” She told Lupin, honestly, coughing and swallowing blood back down. “Tell me about...what comes after.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed a couple lines from a previous chapter, making it so the Hallows were stolen, not given.
> 
> My rescue trip!
> 
> https://www.tiktok.com/@cointoyourwitcher7/video/6882583248698936581?lang=en


	7. Ridding my heart of mortal fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **In a dream I was a werewolf  
>  My soul was filled with crystal light  
> Lavender ribbons of rain sang  
> Ridding my heart of mortal fight, of mortal fight  
> I'm a shake you off though  
> Get up on that horse  
> And ride into the sunset  
> Look back with no remorse**
> 
> Werewolf by CocoRosie
> 
> [The Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2OPPI9jj5JCQxgEyO9O9Gh?si=3l5mrmsBTlaDifu4QUufmA)

“It’s a realm like this world,” Lupin said. “Nature and animals and starry skies at night. Ancestors, descendants, muggles and wizards. And we can stay or ask to be put in for reincarnation, though I don’t know anyone who has wanted to return.”

“Why?” Rey asked. She would want to come straight back.

“Because it’s starting from square one. And the Beyond...there’s no pain or fear or evil. There’s no competition for things or food or long life. It’s just relaxing. Like a sanctuary. Maybe the way things should be if there had been enough magic here to begin with, in the mortal realm. Even the animals don’t fear us,” he said, painting her a beautiful picture.

“And I don’t transform, don’t have to take a potion every month. And I have Tonks and James and Lily and Sirius and Regulus and more friends than I can count,” he chuckled. “No places like this,” he added, looking around at their bleak accommodations.

———————————

Rey heard howling and it must be her. The little werewolf in the Shrieking Shack, sleeping on the cold boards, the building rocking back and forth in the wind.

She awoke suddenly and Lupin was gone. The howling _was_ her, but not because she was a wolf. Because she was in pain, fallen asleep in the middle of the day. She cut herself off when she realized, but it was too late. 

Death crashed through the window, scooping her off the glass-strewn floor like some winged rescuer. 

“Hurts,” she admitted, coughing uncontrollably.

“It’s almost over,” He promised, breathing hard, as if He’d been flying for hours.

She rested her head on His chest, enjoying the feel of strong arms and the swaying of the Shack. 

His long fingers ripped the prophecy from her grasp and she objected.

“No! Give it to me, I want to take it to heaven with me!”

His grip on it tightened as her feet hit the ground. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. He looked wounded, like she had declared she wanted to go On, not stay with Him.

“The only way you’re getting there is with Me,” He said, crushing her prophecy to pieces in His fist.

“Nooo!” she cried, pulling out the Elder Wand and slashing at Him, thinking of the worst spell she could in the moment.

Red blood splattered the ceiling, as if she had just gashed Him from rib to forehead with a sword. She screamed when He stumbled, His back hitting the wall, and sliding down.

“I didn’t think it would do anything to you!” she shouted, dropping the Elder Wand.

He stared at her, as if feeling pain for the first time, His face paling more than normal as blood trickled down from cheek and chest to the ratty rug. He memorized her face, unspeaking, like an animal in shock.

She didn’t know how to heal anything but a busted lip! Spinning the stone three times, she shouted, “Professor Snape! Severus Snape!”

She was babbling to the wisp, waiting for it to take the form of the imposing man in long, black robes, “Just was trying to think of something to use and thought ‘Sectumsempra’ because my dad told me that story,” she said, crying, coughing, wiping blood from her hands onto her skirt.

“Vulnera Senantur,” Snape said, blinking, battle-hardened and all business.

Rey repeated the spell, using _he_ _r_ wand this time, watching as blood evaporated from the rug, fell down from the ceiling, returned to her victim. “I’m sorry,” she repeated over and over, when there was nothing left to heal.

His eyes flicked to her lips and she knew He was feeling better, but she didn’t wait for Him to grab her. She snatched the Hallows in one swift motion and disapparated. She didn’t make it far, landing in Hogsmeade, though she had intended London. Weak, too weak. She saw wizards and witches in the street and choked on blood when she tried to shout. 

They were running to her! She could make out her dad, her Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, her mum, even Hugo, but they all stopped, raising their wands at the sky behind her as if a fearsome dragon had just appeared over a hill.

She turned the stone with frozen fingers. “Sirius.”

Two figures appeared next to her. “I brought Regulus. He wanted to come too, if that’s okay,” Sirius said, as if this were all some exciting adventure.

“Where is that cave?” she squeaked out, standing to run. Her father told her Sirius hid in a cave near Hogsmeade.

“I hate caves,” Regulus muttered.

“In the forest there, the mountain meets the river and it’s in the birch grove,” Sirius was saying, but she was out of time.

Death landed, His hand catching a grip on her cloak. She detached it, ripping the necklace off too, her specters disappearing. “Take them! I don’t want them!” She shouted, falling backwards.

He seemed even larger from the ground, His blue-black wings spread the width of the road. Witches and wizards ran for cover, as He stood clutching the objects, His face expressionless for once. He dropped the Hallows, pulling her to her feet and kissing her, His warm hands on either side of her face. She couldn’t breathe and He stopped, gasping for air, sounding like her, sounding like the shocked crowd of watchers.

She made one last effort, spinning out of His grasp, reappearing in the birch grove, stifling her coughs, and crawling into Sirius’s cave. It was huge, big enough to fit Grawp the half-giant—who had apparently sheltered there too. She collapsed, just a few paces inside, as far as she could go.

She didn’t know which was worse, the cold, the pain, or seeing that look on Death's face. Like He forgave her. Like He’d forgive her anything.

She was freezing, wet from the snow. She’d dropped her wand, maybe by the birches. No Freya for warmth. No ghosts for comfort. No energy to walk. And with the sun gone, the temperature was dropping. The cave walls dripped into icicles and she curled into a ball on a pile of old, brown Daily Prophets, remnants of the last visitor to the cave. 

  
There’d be no search party with Death stalking the streets, flying over their heads, not hiding anymore. She coughed quietly, shaking in nothing but her skirt and sweater and Mary Janes. She closed her eyes, picturing Death on the island, holding out His hand. 

Rey wished she’d just taken it now. Running was fruitless. She’d known it the entire time, since she was eleven and her father took her to pick up her prophecy. Since he explained it to her and she got her first symptoms of illness.

She'd never felt so alone. She sobbed louder, letting her sorrow echo off the cave walls. 

Hoping He’d come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the next scene I promise!! aaaaaah!!


	8. He wraps his loving arms around me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **There is a man  
>  He runs right to me  
> He wraps his loving arms around me  
> He knows, he knows my pain  
> Oh, he knows my pain  
> Oh, he gives me life  
> And I don't know if that is for me  
> It's darker than a thought in all its broken glory  
> My soul just wants to go home  
> Is calling me home**
> 
> Hymn by Bjear
> 
> [The Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2OPPI9jj5JCQxgEyO9O9Gh?si=3l5mrmsBTlaDifu4QUufmA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is THE scene, this is THE SONG. So girl, put your headphones on. 
> 
> It's got this achey hummy thing about halfway that will melt your soul. AAAAGH

Death flew toward the cave entrance without stopping, tucking His wings at the last second, and running to hover over her, sitting her up. He knelt, hugging her, sharing His body heat, and she stopped sobbing, feeling a flicker of hope as He lit a fire with the snap of His fingers.

Maybe it was that she was so near the end, but she could read His thoughts. He wrapped His cloak around the two of them and flattened a hand on her back. He was crying over her shoulder, deciding something.

_I can’t do it. I can’t stand it…_

_A hundred years._

Rey’s lungs filled with air. Clean, icy mountain air of wood smoke and fresh snow and trees. The clawing pain was gone, but not the cold. Could He do nothing about that? 

He rubbed her arms and legs under the cloak, trying to get her blood circulating, cupping her hands in His and blowing on them. 

She slid into His lap to straddle Him, balling her arms between them and nestling into His neck.

“I was so close...to getting there,” she said, almost sadly. He had given her Time and she had seen into His soul. How He’d _been_ giving her Time. How He killed the wizards that cursed her. How bad He wanted her.

“I’ll Take you there one day,” He promised, pulling her wet sweater over her head.

She shivered into His chest. “I don’t mean Beyond, I mean with You.”

He stopped rubbing her back for a moment and she could tell He was reading her face for certainty.

“I’ll stay with You,” she repeated, pulling on the cloak, pulling Him closer. “You saved me. Over and over. And just now. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what was happening at the time.” She leaned and looked at His full lips, asking for a kiss—His way, with body language.

His face was cold when it hit her, His hair wet from melted snow. But His tongue and lips were warm, tasting her, gently at first, then deep but restrained, His whole body tense.

Her fingers were too useless, so she pulled at her shirt front, one button tearing at a time, not breaking the kiss.

Death tugged her knees, her legs widening over His broad thighs, then constricting over His tapered waist. When their laps were flush, His hands blazed trails up her hips, under her skirt. She was starting to feel warm stirrings at her core, each kiss of shared breath a puff on the coals inside her.

Her hands flew to His neck and jaw as she ground into Him, creating their own friction, starting their own flames. He turned His head down and kissed her hand. Grabbing at it, He held it still as He sucked each finger into His hot mouth, trying to warm each one, though the effect was happening elsewhere.

Rey raised herself up on dirty knees, sliding her hands down to His trousers between them, but He grabbed her hand again.

“We’ll make a bond if we do that,” He warned her, His darkening eyes begging for it.

“Then make it,” she said, trying to get her stupid hands to do the job before He changed His mind, went flying off in the night to kill some Death Eaters.

He released whatever He was holding back in one breath, ripping her shirt—dangling from her shoulders—down to her waist, then did the task her hands were failing to do, and tearing her panties away as easy as if they had been made of smoke.

She raised herself up again, feeling Him at her entrance, before sinking down over Him, hot and thick, filling her to her limits. The good pain. 

He groaned into her neck, still on His knees, leaning back to find her lips and kiss her, three different tempos: their mouths, their hips, and their heartbeats. She slowed, breaking the kiss and angling, curving Him into her, watching His eyes close and eyebrows tick the way she liked.

The fire beside them grew and she smiled, gauging His pleasure by it. His arms tightened around her, pushing her all the way down to His base, and she whimpered as He sheathed fully, tight at her entrance and pressing on her insides hard.

“Sorry,” He apologized, letting her go, as if she were more delicate than He realized.

She continued moving on Him, rolling her hips, giving Him the look He’d given her earlier. The one that said she would forgive Him anything. Her pace quickened, watching His face. The way His jaw tightened and His throat bobbed. The way His hand kneaded her tender breast, the other on her hip bone, guiding her. 

The fire grew again and she relaxed, overheating and sweating with Him under the cloak, hot enough to pull it off and let the wind hit them. She felt her own arousal dripping down her leg, hot, turning cold in the air.

“Can you feel that?” He asked, His breath coming in spurts. 

She wondered if He meant how _good_ it felt, the burning, stretching, consuming heat between their legs, but then she felt it. A bridge between their minds. Like when she was dying and read His thoughts. He rubbed her arms, as if He could feel where she was still cold, and she rocked her hips lower, feeling His needs too. 

Kissing His taut neck, she felt His arms break out in goosebumps. She ran her teeth over His ear so He’d open His eyes and pay attention as she whispered promises. That no matter what world or realm existed, she was going to be wherever He was.

Death looked human again. Just a man who wanted a woman, to bed her and touch her and make her cry out for Him. And she did, when it became too much, when she couldn’t wait for Him any longer, her body releasing and tightening on His, her nerves sending the feeling down the bridge—a pyre now, alight and sparking into the darkness.

He groaned, a fist in her skirt, and poured Himself into Her, thrusting from underneath when she stopped, too tired to continue. He exhaled and the fire dimmed to normal, the bridge became a bridge again, and His eyes reopened.

Laying Rey back on His soft cloak, He looked her down, exposed to the cold air, face red, firelight dancing off her skin. He snapped His fingers to clean away their mess—clean her whole body—her knees and hands and bloody throat.

She sat facing the fire, feeling spent and sore and grown up, as He pulled her back to His chest, stretching His long legs to either side of her. As relief drained her, she felt Him beginning to tense again.

“Your family is terrified. Let me take you back,” He said, trying to pull her arms through her shirt. _Do it now, or You won’t be able to_ , He was thinking.

Rey sat up straight. She knew He had given her a hundred years, but she didn’t know He meant _in the mortal realm_. “No, I’m staying with you!”

He shook His head, “I’ll visit you. Live the life you should have had, were it not for the Lestrange brothers.” Down the bond, she could practically hear Him crumbling.

“You don’t want that,” she said, folding her shirt over her, the buttons scattered over the cave floor. “I’m going wherever you live.”

“That’s just it,” He said, unmoving. “You’re alive. Not dead. And therefore can’t. I’m sorry, had I known...You were seconds away, but I couldn’t bear feeling the pain in you. I can’t let you suffer, little bird.”

Rey blinked, feeling His determination click into place, her heart stricken.

“I want you to hold onto this,” He said, offering her the Cloak of Invisibility. “To keep you safe and have a little piece of Me.”

Rey stood, angry now. “I don’t want a little piece, I want all of You.”

He stood too, tall enough to dwarf her. “When your time comes, I’ll be there. And when I lead you to the bridge, after you’ve had mortal life, you can decide. If you want to live in the Beyond with your loved ones or with Me, in the In Between.”

“I’m telling You right now!” she shouted, the cave magnifying her hurt. “My family—they’d want me to be happy. They wouldn’t care, as long as I was happy!” she cried, feeling incoherent.

He wrapped His arms around her and she could feel His pain, worse than hers. Because He had no family. And a hundred years used to be nothing to Him and it felt like eternity now.

Picking her up, He flew her back to Ravenclaw tower, the sky blue-black like His wings, glittering stars like Darkness Powder. She twisted her fist into His sweater, preparing to physically keep Him when He set her down on the frozen balcony. The flight felt too short, not enough time to talk or convince Him. Why did she always need more time?!

“Don’t,” she said, letting His sweater stretch as He backed away. She sent her fear down the bond, her certainty, her desire, everything she had. But it spilled over the side of the bridge, hitting a wall of darkness on His end. 

“I’ll visit you soon,” He promised. “I’ll hum so you know I’m coming,” He said, His voice trailing away.

He ripped her hand away, flying straight up, over the turret so she couldn’t watch Him leaving her. Or so He wouldn’t have to see her, the hurt and confusion on her features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man. I've been wanting to write a body heat survival sex scene for like four months. :D


	9. I'd rather be dead at least then I'm with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **I see you in the daytime and I hear you at night  
>  There's a pale imitation burnt in my eyes  
> I don't wanna be here  
> I don't know what to do  
> Sometimes I'd rather be dead  
> At least then I'm with you  
> Amen, amen**
> 
> Amen by Amber Run
> 
> [The Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2OPPI9jj5JCQxgEyO9O9Gh?si=3l5mrmsBTlaDifu4QUufmA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning* See the endnote if you're worried! (Kept it a secret so as not to spoil the entire plot)
> 
> OMG I've been wanting to use this song for a story for like 10 months. :D

“You can’t live like this,” Hugo whispered, hiding his mouth behind his quill. “Everyone thinks I’ve started talking to myself.”

Rey didn’t respond, laying with her head on their study table in the library, concealed by Death’s cloak. Like she’d been doing, for two weeks. The cloak was mussing her hair, but the rest of her was immaculate. ‘Soon,’ He’d said. She didn’t know when that was, so she spent half of every day trying to look presentable enough to make Him stay with her when He came back.

“Are you still there?” he asked, poking her in the side.

“I’m here,” she muttered.

She preferred the world thinking she was dead. Coming back after half the school had seen Death kissing her in Hogsmeade would lead to so many unbearable questions. 

Since Death abandoned her to the mortal realm, she walked the halls like a Hogwarts ghost. Though she ate and slept, she didn’t attend classes or comfort her family or correct any mistaken rumors. Though what she’d overheard was largely correct. She wondered if Hugo was supplying information to their fellow students, being the only family member still at school.

“I was there, she was definitely kissing Him back,” Brodie Finnigan said to his girlfriend at the next table. “She just didn’t want to die.”

“Well, she probably did,” the Hufflepuff girl said, annoyed. “She was scared and too young and she died. So stop gossiping about it.”

“You were talking about this just last week!” 

“We were all still looking for her last week!”

“SHHH!” Madam Pince hissed, shuffling toward them. “But if you find her, tell her I know she’s got one of our books,” she added, communal knowledge being her highest priority.

Rey had forgotten about that. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ and flung it to land between the three.

They shrieked and slid away from the book, looking around for the poltergeist that had lobbed it at them.

“Let’s go,” Hugo said between his teeth, corking his ink well. She followed him into the corridor, followed him everywhere, like a Grim with no other purpose in life.

“Why are you mad at me?” Rey asked, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked. 

“Because, Rey, shouldn’t you tell your parents you’re alive? Or your brothers?” Hugo said, quieting as a group of girls passed by. Though the paintings certainly gave him odd looks when he began talking again. “Do you want me to tell them you survived?”

“Maybe one day,” Rey said, trying to think of how to explain. “I don’t feel...alive. I can feel Him circling the castle like the great hand of a clock, His shadow passing over me, marking time. And I know He’s just as unhappy as I am.”

They neared the Ravenclaw door. “I should go, no one understands why I come up here,” he said, woodenly.

“Fine, I’ll just wait for another Ravenclaw to get in,” Rey said, giving Hugo’s arm a squeeze.

“We all love you, you know, Raven?” Hugo said seriously, using her full name.

“I know,” Rey said, giving Hugo a hug. 

Her gloom seeped into his face. “But. I also want you to be wherever is...best,” he said, as if he knew what she’d been contemplating since the moment Death broke her grip.

She watched him descending the staircase, past a first year Ravenclaw girl who pressed her lips tight, eyes watching him too. The girl stepped up to the door knocker, fiddling with her scarf. Rey moved behind her to tailgate inside, _if_ she could solve the riddle.

The eagle proceeded in her prim tone,

“There once was a raven, 

With a heart full of lead.

She suffered an illness,

All inside her head.

She bore her pain well,

Always put up a front.

Though, in truth, let’s admit,

She was a bit of a—.”

“Hey!” Rey objected.

The first year looked around briefly, likely assuming it was a painting that had spoken, but the knocker continued.

“She burned without flame,

This bird had a fever.

What was the sickness,

That Death couldn’t relieve her?”

“Love?” The little girl said, not missing a beat.

Rey swallowed as the door opened for her and stepped quickly behind.

“That was a pretty good one,” Rey granted the knocker, whose beak upturned in a grin. 

Rey walked to the center of the common room, then stopped, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. It sparkled with painted stars on a midnight blue sky, matching the carpet under her feet. 

She wondered if the In Between was the _sky_. She couldn’t join Him as a mortal, and He’d used flying to _convince_ her to stay with Him. And she always felt Him there, through the bond, flying somewhere, even now, His wings leaving eddies in the falling snow.

She spun in a circle, face tilted to the ceiling, His cloak soft against her face. Rey didn’t want a painting of life. She wanted the real thing. Climbing the winding stairs, she unlocked her door. 

The grate was orange with firelight, the house elves still tending to the room. Her family had come once to investigate, but had left it alone, hoping she would return.

She gently hung her father’s cloak up next to her bed. So he’d see it and know she’d come back. She thought of writing a note, but that was for people who thought they’d never see each other again. 

And death was just a bridge.

Rey stepped to the windows, unlatching them with shaking fingers, but as the wind caught them and pushed them wide, she calmed. Death was hurting and she knew how to take His pain away.

She grasped the railing, looking up, instead of down. She put one leg over the side, then the next, the cold metal against her back and legs as the wind buffeted her skirt. Looking down to position her feet on the thin ledge, she balked at the view.

The length of the castle, the rocks, the Black Lake beneath. As she leaned out, her body threatened to betray her, reminding her that it was cozy inside with one hundred years of life and family. But she closed her eyes and pictured Him, holding out His shaking hand, “Please.”

Rey reached her hand out, though nothing was there to meet it but air. 

  
_Willingly_ , she thought, letting go of the railing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning* -->Suicide


	10. Heaven is a place like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Heaven is a place like this  
>  Four walls to hide within  
> A cold, cold world's medicine  
> Knowing you won't have to sleep alone again  
> I don't know when I started loving you  
> Now it's all that I can I do  
> Heaven is a place I know when I'm with you**
> 
> Heaven is a Place by Amber Run
> 
> [The Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2OPPI9jj5JCQxgEyO9O9Gh?si=3l5mrmsBTlaDifu4QUufmA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Another trigger warning* see the endnote

Death’s sweater rubbed her cheek and she opened her eyes as He lifted her. “Keep your eyes closed, little bird,” He said, crying.

Rey didn’t know _why_ He’d be crying. She felt fine. He was back and His arms were around her. Oh no. Did He catch her?

She looked around in the dark. He was carrying her up a steep set of rocks, then down towards the Black Lake. If He’d caught her, wouldn’t they be flying?

Then she saw what had His eyes streaming. Her body on the rocks. Twisted and unmoving. She could feel His guilt and terror at finding her. Letting her die alone. She remembered it herself, falling. Not like flying at all. She screamed the whole way down, despite herself, landed feet first, and _felt_ everything break, then nothing.

“Look ahead,” He told her, blocking her view with His wing.

He was mad. She frowned, looking toward the Black Lake. 

“What the-,” she gasped. From one end to the other stretched a wooden bridge, arched and lit with staggered lanterns. It’s simple beauty called to her. She wanted to run to the top and see what was on the other side, but Death was carrying her still, as if she couldn’t walk. 

“Can you hear that?” she asked Him, staring at it. Whispers.

He nodded, “Rey, it’s going to try to get you to cross-.”

“Let me down! I can hear them!” she shouted, wriggling out of His grasp.

“Wait!” He called, chasing her as she ran to the shore and started up it, the boards thick and solid under her feet. She was faster, His wings slowed Him down. At the top, she could see it, a village at night, a bonfire surrounded by people. Like a festival, drawing her like a moth to a flame.

“Rey!” He said, grabbing her arm. “If you cross, I can’t get you back! Not really!” He explained, grabbing her other arm.

She squirmed, unable to look at Him. That’s where she was supposed to be! It was so inviting she wanted to scream at Him, but then some mortal memory popped into her head. 

_Her dad walking her through the Department of Mysteries, showing her where they fought a Ministry battle when he was only fifteen. She clutched her new prophecy, listening as he pointed to an archway with a veil and told her about Sirius Black. About how the Veil called to them, pulled at them, those that had seen Death._

Rey stopped struggling, looking at Him as the fog in her brain cleared and the whispers stopped. 

“I’m going to let go,” He said, releasing His grip, but watching Her carefully. “It’s up to you. The Beyond or the In Between, but I figured, since you jumped, maybe you wanted-.”

Rey pulled Him down to kiss her—whatever spell the Beyond had over her broken—leaving nothing but Death and the bond and His arms around her. “I’m staying, I’m staying with You,” she said, sinking down from her tiptoes. 

He sighed, smiling. “Good,” He said, grabbing her hand and flapping His wings once, hard enough to rip them both into the air. 

She screamed, dangling by one hand, but He pulled out the Elder Wand and pointed it at her, blinding her with a white light, burning her, her skin and back. Then, He let go.

Falling toward the Black Lake and the bridge, instinct kicked in and she flapped her wings. _Her wings._ Not blue-black, but midnight blue and silvery. She controlled them as easily as if she were telling her arms to move, but the muscles felt different, tugging at her core.

“You scared me!” she shouted at Him, struggling to keep from steadily dropping toward the water.

“Come here,” He smirked, scooping her up mid-air. 

Her wings folded and disappeared, leaving her looking human again. “Is this the In Between?” she asked as they flew higher, through the clouds and toward the stars, just like she suspected. The thestrals from the Dark Forest joined behind them like a V of birds, banking with them, playing in their air stream. Freya trilled, ganglier and less coordinated than the herd, kicking her legs unnecessarily. 

“ _This_ is it,” He said, passing through a high cloud. On the other side, there were thousands of clouds, stacked like mountains with gardens and castles, waterfalls that poured into air. Behind them, the thestrals had turned into black horses with shiny coats.

“It’s My realm. _Our_ realm,” He corrected Himself. When He reached a stone parapet, He set her down, glancing around and letting her walk to the edge. “We’re the only ones,” He said, as if she were looking for others. Probably afraid the loneliness would make her regret her decision.

The thestral herd landed in the field before them, walking slowly in the moonlight as if basking. They were joined by more, a larger herd coming to meet them. Although their appearance had changed, she could have sworn Freya was nuzzling a mare that could have been Strife, her mother.

“I love it,” Rey smiled, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight. “But I want one thing.”

“Name it,” He said quietly, standing next to her.

“I want us to fly by Hogwarts so everyone knows I’m okay. Tomorrow,” she said. “Just the once. Then we can go back to being a secret.”

He pulled her to His side. “I think I could be persuaded to break a rule or two for you.” He slid a ring onto her finger, over her tattoo, the Resurrection Stone on a silver band. "So you can summon friends from the Beyond," He said.

She held her hand out, admiring it. 

Death leaned down and she kissed Him over her shoulder, letting His hands travel down her arms, over her waist. He kissed her hard enough to make her stumble. He held her tight enough that she couldn’t fall. Her blood stopped, then pumped harder, strangely, coursing in reverse.

_Mistress of Death._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey’s fall is described


End file.
